The Broken Window

tracking devices? Well, guess what? Oliver Stone may have a movie here—there is something implanted in it. In the spine tape.”
    “Really?” Sachs said, shaking her head. “I thought he was nuts.”
    “Let me see,” Rhyme said, his curiosity piqued and skepticism on temporary hold.
    Cooper moved a small high-definition camera closer to the examining table and hit the book with an infrared light. It revealed underneath the tape a tiny rectangle of crisscrossed lines.
    “Take it out,” Rhyme said.
    Carefully Cooper slit the spine tape and removed what appeared to be an inch-long piece of plasticized paper printed with what looked like computer circuit lines. Also, a series of numbers and the manufacturer’s name, DMS, Inc.
    Sellitto asked, “The fuck is it? Really a tracking device?”
    “I don’t see how. There’s no battery or power source that I can find,” Cooper said.
    “Mel, look up the company.”
    A fast business search revealed it was Data Management Systems, based outside Boston. He read a description of the outfit, one division of which manufactured these little devices—known as RFID tags, for radio frequency identification.
    “I’ve heard about those,” Pulaski said. “It was on CNN.”
    “Oh, the definitive source for forensic knowledge,” Rhyme said cynically.
    “No, that’s CSI, ” Sellitto said, drawing another aborted laugh from Ron Pulaski.
    Sachs asked, “What does it do?”
    “This is interesting.”
    “Again, interesting.”
    “Essentially it’s a programmable chip that can be read by a radio scanner. They don’t need a battery; theantenna picks up the radio waves and that gives them enough juice to work.”
    Sachs said, “Jorgensen was talking about breaking off antennas to disable them. He also said you could destroy some of them in a microwave. But that one”—she gestured—“he couldn’t nuke. Or so he said.”
    Cooper continued, “They’re used for inventory control by manufacturers and retailers. In the next few years nearly every product sold in the U.S. will have its own RFID tag. Some major retailers already require them before they’ll stock a product line.”
    Sachs laughed. “That’s just what Jorgensen was telling me. Maybe he wasn’t as National Enquirer as I thought.”
    “Every product?” Rhyme asked.
    “Yep. So stores know where the stuff in inventory is, how much stock they have, what’s selling faster than other things, when to restock the shelves, when to reorder. They’re also used for baggage handling by airlines so they know where your luggage is without having to visually scan the bar code. And they’re used in credit cards, driver’s licenses, employee IDs. They’re called ‘smart cards’ then.”
    “Jorgensen wanted to see my department ID. He looked it over real carefully. Maybe that’s what he was interested in.”
    “They’re all over the place,” Cooper continued. “In those discount cards you use in grocery stores, in frequent-flier cards, in tollbooth smart pass transponders.”
    Sachs nodded at the evidence boards. “Think about it, Rhyme. Jorgensen was talking about this man hecalled God knowing all about his life. Enough to steal his identity, to buy things in his name, take out loans, get credit cards, find out where he was.”
    Rhyme felt the excitement of moving forward in the hunt. “And Five Twenty-Two knows enough about his victims to get close to them, get inside their defenses. He knows enough about the fall guys to plant evidence that’s identical to what they have at home.”
    “And,” Sellitto added, “he knows exactly where they were at the time of the crime. So they won’t have an alibi.”
    Sachs looked over the tiny tag. “Jorgensen said his life started to fall apart around the time he got that book.”
    “Where’d he buy it? Any receipts or price stickers, Mel?”
    “Nope. If there were he cut them out.”
    “Call Jorgensen back. Let’s get him in here.”
    Sachs pulled out her phone and called the transient hotel where she’d just met with him. She was frowning. “Already?” she asked the clerk.
    Doesn’t bode well, Rhyme reflected.
    “He’s moved out,” she said after hanging up. “But I know where he’s going.” She found a slip of paper, placed another call. Though after a brief conversation she hung up, sighing. Jorgensen wasn’t at that hotel either, she said; he hadn’t even called to make a reservation.
    “Do you have a cell number?”
    “He doesn’t